


Unfortunate Circumstances

by Gloomier



Series: Heart and Soul [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship (Bilbo/Dwalin/Thorin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: A quick look into Thorin and Dwalin's life while Bilbo is out house shopping. Thorin's page, Alf, is also not pleased to be delivering messages to Master Baggins.





	Unfortunate Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> A self-indulgent mini-continuation of Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder. It's not technically a continuation since I mainly wanted to show a little bit of the other side of the story. The idea really wouldn't leave me.
> 
> This fic takes place between Bilbo's plans being canceled and the finalizing of the house purchase. Should be read after having read chapter one of Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Enter!” came the muffled and terse reply.

The door swung open and Alf stepped in. “Your Majesty, I’ve returned.” the page said.

Thorin, who sat at his desk quickly scribbling something on a piece of parchment, ignored them. The king was already lost in work. Alf did not enjoy interrupting the work of his employers, let alone the king. They did not enjoy having to take poor news to Master Baggins either. Things were steadily growing worse each time they had to do it.

Alf cleared their throat and attempted again to get the king’s attention, speaking a little louder this time. “Excuse me, Your Highness. You asked me to return once I gave Master Baggins the news.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Thorin grumbled and gestured for Alf to step forward. The page quickly complied and moved toward the desk where the king was working. “What did Master Baggins say?”

“Nothing, my liege.” Alf fidgeted, nervously.

“Come again?” Thorin asked, pausing in his work to look over at his page.

“Uh, that is… He asked if that was all, and that was it! But I beg you, Highness, not to send me to him again.” They stammered.

Thorin pinned his page with a stare as annoyance creased his brow. Perhaps it was the way they said it, but Alf was not trying to be rude.

“I fear if you send me to give Master Baggins more cancellations, that he will stick my belly with a sword. He was highly displeased.”

Thorin’s expression softened and a smile curled his lips. The explanation seemed to amuse the king and Alf was very happy for it; it meant that they would keep their job. If they had to keep delivering messages to Master Baggins however, they weren’t sure if they would get to keep their life.

“Master Baggins would sooner murder you with pointed words and manners before he would think to stick you with a blade.” Thorin chuckled, turning back to his papers. “But if that is your wish, I will send an apprentice in the future. Thank you, Alf. You may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Alf said with great relief.

The page gave a respectful bow and hightailed it out of the office.

*

Dwalin always knew what it meant to be tied to royalty.

All the talking, the listening, making treaties and alliances, attending state dinners and dealing with food shortages and epidemics. He just didn’t realize how much more chaotic it would become after retaking Erebor.

He and Thorin had been together for a long time. First as friends, and as they grew older they became lovers; ultimately joining together in marriage. It had always been a lot of work. Dwalin preferred to watch Thorin’s back rather than have to deal with the fiddly stuff. Balin was much better with speaking to people and organizing paperwork. Dwalin was good at fighting and protecting as their father had been. They had to let a lot of things drop to the wayside after Erebor had been sacked. It was acceptable too since they had no kingdom, and everyone just wanted to close their eyes and ignore them.

Now Dwalin had to take up more responsibilities beyond just watching Thorin’s back and managing the guard. He was expected to talk nice with the other dwarf kingdoms, and it was now impossible altogether to avoid elven envoys. Dwalin suspected that Thorin enjoyed making him deal with the elves, but on the other hand, Thorin was _very good_ at making it up to him.

While he had once watched Thrór make decisions that would affect the entire kingdom, he was now doing that very thing at Thorin’s side.

He wished that both he and Thorin had more time for themselves.

Three years was a lot of time, but still, the work seemed to pile up. Dwalin helped with all the duties he had, but there just wasn’t enough hands to get all the work done. A lot of things got left behind and unattended because of it. Such as the tentative courtship that had tried to start with Bilbo.

Trying to use dwarven subtlety in a time where everything was pure, undistilled chaos was their failure. And when they tried to do it again last year, they simply could not find the time to continue. It was shameful. They barely saw any of the company, barring Balin and Bombur for obvious reasons. They hadn’t even seen Bilbo in many weeks, and it made Dwalin ache. The same could be said for Thorin if the pained expression was anything to go by when they accidentally stumbled upon the hobbit mid-conversation.

Things needed to change, and he would beg, plead, and bribe Balin to help them. He would even bust some skulls if that’s what it took.

And then Óin came to him one afternoon when Dwalin had finally gotten a moment to beat someone senseless in the training arena.

Dwalin had been relaxing on a bench after a particularly aggressive bout when Óin came and sat next to him.

“The Hobbit is highly displeased with you,” Óin announced.

“And he should be,” Dwalin replied sadly.

“Well, if you idiots don’t do something about it soon then Bilbo is going to leave,” Óin said matter of factly. “For now, Glóin and I are distracting him.”

Dwalin swallowed thickly. He willed his gut to stop churning, but the gravity of the situation would not allow it. Bilbo couldn’t leave… “And he told you that he was going to leave?”

“Not in so many words,” Óin explained, “He was deep in his cups when he started talking about how lonely he’s been. Doesn’t feel like this mountain is his home. Like the rest of us, he’s got a hefty pile of gold, so Glóin’s got it in his head that Bilbo needs to buy a house.”

“You’re making him leave the palace?” Dwalin sourly accused.

Óin leveled him with a pointed glare. “We haven’t made him do anything. If anyone is to blame, it’s you hard-headed numpties. You and Thorin are the kings of this kingdom. Do something about it or you’ll lose him forever.”

And with that Óin got up and walked away, not bothering to wait for a reply.

*

Later, after Dwalin had finished bathing himself in the palace bathhouse, he found Thorin sitting at a table in their quarters, leading over a book. Reading over Thorin’s shoulder revealed it to be a Ledger of some sort, Dwalin reckoned from all the numbers on the pages.

“Thorin,” Dwalin said.

Thorin didn’t answer, and it was so clear he was absorbed in something. He was good at brooding, even now as they lived in happier times. Several strands of Thorin’s hair came loose, falling into his husband's eyes.

Dwalin moved to carefully gather all of the Thorin’s hair—threading his fingers through the silky strands first—and trapped it in the hair clasp resting on the desk. Which was when Thorin decided to turn his head and look at him, and Dwalin couldn’t help himself.

He knelt down, bracing a hand on the table, and pressed a kiss up into the corner of Thorin’s mouth. Thorin replied in kind, slotting their lips together. The kiss was gentle, and while it lacked their usual burning passion, it still spoke of love and devotion. Dwalin’s fingers traveled along the desk in search of Thorin’s fingers that lay on the forgotten ledger.

When they broke apart, Dwalin’s expression mirrored Thorin’s pensive one. “We need to talk.”

Thorin grimaced, “Did Glóin come to see you as well?” he asked.

“Óin.” Dwalin corrected.

“We need to do something,” Thorin murmured, squeezing Dwalin’s hand.

“We will go to him, but not until we’re sure we’ll have the time. Balin has some ideas you might like.” Dwalin said, returning the gesture.

Both he and Thorin would spend the rest of their years making it all up to Bilbo, should their hobbit see fit to forgive them. They did not deserve it, but he hoped for it nonetheless.

Dwalin prayed that they were not too late.


End file.
